a tree grows through the open roof of the café
ferns and orchids drape low and heavy with bloom
over conversations closely held
by pairs that make no notice of
the surround sound: squid frying in back
a saw cutting metal down the road
their consonant chatter in
interleaving languages whose meaning
you can only sense by tone and inflection
a bent man, a monk, you think
brings you tea that softens your veins
you are a conduit now
a dangling rope bridge, between.
more sounds:
dishes in sink water, a distant bell
arrive and exit as clouds
the immediacy of it lifts
your heart to your throat
like a flock of birds
riding the heat, the exhaust
of the human city
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